


take you apart

by CloudCover (RainyForecast)



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Established Relationship, Exhibitionism, Kinda, M/M, PWP, Praise Kink, Semi-Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-06
Updated: 2018-05-06
Packaged: 2019-05-02 21:13:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14553639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RainyForecast/pseuds/CloudCover
Summary: The entire building is empty and cavernous feeling. Sid’s heart is racing in his chest, and he look up at the boxes, the media platform, the catwalk up above.“Are you sure?” He says, and his voice shakes. “Absolutely sure that—”





	take you apart

The entire building is empty and cavernous feeling. There are only a few lights on, right over the ice. The stands are dark, making the rink surface seem to glow even brighter, practically spotlit.

Sid’s heart is racing in his chest, and he look up at the boxes, the media platform, the catwalk up above.

“Are you sure?” He says, and his voice shakes. “Absolutely sure that—”

“Yes, Sid,” Geno tell him, for the umpteenth time. “Made sure. Triple-checked. Doors are locked, no staff. ” He studies Sid’s face. “Can decide not to do. We can go home, if you want.”

Sid swallows. “After paying for the whole—”

“Sid,” Geno says, “If you decide no, we leave. Is okay.”

Sid stares down the tunnel, at the pristine surface of the ice beyond it.

“We wanted this,” he says softly to Geno. “I wanted it.” Geno doesn’t respond, just looks steadily at him, eyes soft.

Sid’s not a quitter. And he _does_ want this. He lifts his chin “Okay,” he says, and heads down the tunnel to the locker room.

They put on the gear they’ve brought. Not gameday gear, save the skates and the helmets, but stuff they bought new. Geno sits in his stall watching Sid, and Sid can feel the dark, heavy weight of his gaze as Sid carefully winds tape around the tops of his socks. Geno doesn’t let himself stare like this when there’s anyone else around, and whenever they’re getting geared up, there’s always someone else around. But not now.

The motions of getting geared up are ingrained and automatic, so Sid is able to watch Geno swing his chest protector over his head, settling it on his broad shoulders. His throat feels dry and he swallows. He has to think of gladiators, pulling on armor.

Geno catches him looking and grins, sharp and pleased.

Base layers, pads, pants. Sid pulls a clean, new-smelling jersey over his head, smoothes the penguin over his chest.

Geno is already done, and he’s taping a stick, eyes fixed on Sid, Sid feels heat pool, low in his belly, at the look in Geno’s eyes. He has to look down for a moment, focus on making his shaking hands lace his skates. He’s shaking all over. It had been nerves at first, but it’s anticipation now.

“Come on,” Geno says, and they get up.

At the mouth of the tunnel, like they always do, Sid turns back to Geno and they do their handshake. Today though, when they knock their helmets together, Geno grabs on to him, locking them in place. He’s taking deep, heaving breaths, and Sid’s face, already flushed, goes even hotter.

He’s hard, his dick straining at the confines of his jock.

Geno leans back, and nods toward the ice. Sid steps out onto it.

***  
They take a few slow, looping glides, but skating with a hard on is...not the easiest thing in the world. They circle each other, closer and closer until they’re standing together at the blue line. Sid purposefully doesn’t look at center ice.

Geno’s eyes are fierce, and his voice is a growl when he finally speaks.

“Think about it, Sid? Think about game, maybe you’re score amazing goal again, hit puck out of the air, everyone go crazy. So good, Sid. Incredible.”

Sid shudders. “Or you—you got in a fight. For me. Someone was giving me shit, and you went after them. Took them down.”

“Yes,” Geno purrs, “They try shit but I’m not let. We win. Show all of them.” He reaches out, takes Sid’s stick, and tosses it to one side. The clatter echos, but Sid’s heart feels louder.

“I did…” He starts to say, but the words die in his mouth. Geno reaches out, and tilts his chin up with one gloved hand. The touch is enough to encourage him to finish, albeit in a whisper. “I did good.”

“So good,” Geno croons. “You always do good.” He drops his own stick, then his gloves, and Sid has to laugh a little at how it’s almost a mirror of a hockey fight. Geno grins back at him. But the grin fades as he takes of their helmets and drops them onto the ice. He can lean into Sid now, and he does, close enough to kiss. But he doesn’t.

“Best,” he breathes, and _then_ he kisses him, Sid’s whimper lost in the wet heat of Geno’s mouth, and the insistent, delicious slide of Geno’s tongue.

Geno moves forward, pushing Sid back, towards center ice. Sid bites at Geno’s lip, and Geno sucks in a shuddering breath.

“Gonna show,” he gasps out, wrecked. “Show everyone.” And he bears Sid down, first to his knees, then further, until Sid is sitting back on the blanket-covered mats they’ve laid over center ice, blinking up at Geno being haloed by the lights like some kind of avenging angel.

Geno kneels, and his eyes never leave Sid’s as he unlaces his own skates, then Sid’s. He sits back on his heels to pull off his jersey in one fluid motion, and that too gets cast aside.

Sid’s on fire. He starts to pull at his own jersey, getting tangled in it as he tries to pull it off. Geno’s hands are there then, setting him free.

It’s a blur, after that. Gear off and shoved aside, until Sid is lying there in nothing but his Under Armour and Geno is shirtless, pressing sucking kisses into Sid’s neck. He’s caged Sid in with his body, and Sid runs his hands up Geno’s long back, muscle flexing under his touch. Down further, to grasp at the delicious curve of Geno’s ass.

“Keep talking, G,” Sid says, tugging Geno’s head back so he can bite at his collarbones.

“So good Sid,” Geno groans. He rolls his hips against Sid’s, friction making Sid shudder against him. “Everyone—everyone think they know you. But it’s only me. Just me who gets to see you like this.”

Geno sits up, but only to pull off Sid’s Under Armor shirt, and begin to kiss down his chest. Sid gasps at the contrast between the cold rink air and the hot brand of Geno’s worshipful mouth.

“Want you, G,” Sid sighs, and Geno _growls_.

“Know you want. Want me most. And I’m give you. Everything you need.”

“Yeah,“ Sid breathes. “Do—do they see it? You giving me what I need?”

Geno inhales sharply. “They see. Can’t stop looking. They all see how beautiful you _beg_.”

“Beg, huh?” Sid says, just to be a shit, and Geno scrapes his teeth against Sid’s abs, making him jolt and shake. He takes the waistband of Sid’s tights, and _yanks_.

Sid gasps as cold air hits his cock, but it’s quickly replaced by wet heat as Geno first licks up its length, then swallows him down. Sid cries out.

He lays a hand on Geno’s dark head and throws his own head back to stare up at the lights, trying to get himself under control. He wants to make this last. But Geno’s clever tongue is ruining him.

“Off, off, off,” he chants eventually, tugging Geno back up. He kisses him fiercely, tasting himself on Geno’s tongue.

“I take care?” Geno rasps when their mouths break apart.

“So good, G. The best,” Sids tells him, and Geno’s eyes darken in satisfaction.

“You ready, baby?” he asks Sid, and Sid can only nod, fixed in place by the heat of Geno’s gaze.

Geno pulls down his own Under Armour, freeing his erection, and Sid groans at the sight of it. Fuck, Geno’s got an amazing cock. And normally he’d want to spend time using his mouth to give it all the attention it deserves, but that’s not what Geno’d said he wanted from today. For Geno, today is about what he can do for Sid.

Geno jacks himself a few times, letting his proprietary gaze sweep over Sid. Sid can’t keep still, making little shifting movements, searching for missing friction. He’d prepared himself ahead of time. He’s already worked loose and slick with lube. Geno slips two fingers inside him anyway, curling them up to make Sid moan.

“Come on, G.” He bears down on Geno’s fingers, aching for more, flushed with want.

“Ask,” Geno commands. “Tell me what you want.”

Sid rolls his head to the side, drawing it out. He opens his eyes, lets them fall on the empty visitor’s bench, imagines it full of staring players. And that thought breaks him.

“Fuck me,” he breathes. “ _Please_ , Geno. _Fuck_ me.”

“Good, baby.” Geno lines himself up, and slides home. Sid cries out once, and again as Geno begins to move.

“Sid,” Geno moans, wrecked, finally sounding as undone as Sid feels. He covers Sid with his body again and searches out Sid’s mouth with his own for a panting kiss. He seems to find his rhythm and Sid moves to meet it, tide following the moon.

“Everyone see,” Geno whispers into Sid’s ear as he thrusts into him and Sid’s back arches off of the mat in ecstasy. The sounds they’re making echo in the empty rink. “Everyone see how good you are for me.”

“Just for you.” The words leave Sid’s mouth in a sigh. Geno makes a pained, wondering sound and goes still in an effort not to come. He lifts his head to meet Sid’s gaze, and his eyes are dark and glittering.

“Yours,” Sid tells him. Geno makes another incoherent sound, this one almost a sob. He pushes into Sid again, rhythm lost, a frenzy of desperate movement. There’s a torrent of Russian falling from his lips; Sid only recognizes his name and “I love you,” over and over and over. Sid thinks maybe he _screams_ , as Geno’s thrusts hit him just. Right.

And then Geno takes one of his hands from where they’re wrapped around Sid’s wrists and reaches for Sid’s cock.

And Sid is falling apart around the epicenter of his white-hot pleasure, stars sparking across his vision. He sobs Geno’s name, and feels Geno thrust one more time and spill, body bowed over Sid, covering him, lost in him.

***  
After, they both lie back, sweat cooling on their skin. Sid rests his head on Geno’s chest and lets Geno stroke his damp hair.

“Beautiful,” Geno tells him, stroking a hand up and down Sid’s arm, because Geno is Geno and saying things like that comes so easily to him.

“You—” Sid tries to say something of what his heart is full of, what he’s feeling. But he’s not like Geno. Words don’t come easy to him, not about what he feels the deepest.

But, he doesn’t really need words. “I know, “Geno says warmly, and hums as Sid turns his head to press a kiss to Geno’s chest. “Happy anniversary, Sid.”

“Happy anniversary,” Sid echoes. He looks up one more time, at the row of Stanley Cup banners in the rafters high above them. “Happy anniversary, Geno.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me as [knifeshoeoreofight](http://knifeshoeoreofight.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr, and as @RainyForecast on Twitter. Come say hi!


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